


fight me, like you do

by bittybelle



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: BDSM overtones, Dream Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Femdom, Force Bond, Love/Hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:58:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5658652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittybelle/pseuds/bittybelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Kylo imagined his death at her hands. Of her tall and triumphant above him, of his blood under her fingernails. Of her swathed in the Force, looping it carelessly through her fingers, sending it forth to give his every shameful memory a last caress before she stopped his heart. </i>
</p>
<p>Rey accepts Kylo's offer of mentorship. Kylo finds he isn't up to the task.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fight me, like you do

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of really wanted Rey to say yes to Kylo's offer. Also, I want them to bone. Necessity is the mother of surreal, love/hate smut-ish fic, apparently?

“I can show you the ways of the Force.”

After she hesitated, after they left, after the Base imploded and there truly was nowhere left for her to go but with him, did she resist. He felled her, scowling, and called for a transport droid.

 “Pretty,” Hux sneered later, as they watched her through the medical bay’s window. “After a fashion.”

She wasn’t pretty. She was primordial.

\---

She spent a week in her room, silent to everyone save him.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said.

“You’re a monster,” she said.

 “I want to leave,” she said.

He smiled.

“So leave.”

\---

It took eight days.

“I want to learn how to do what you did to me.” Bluster marbled the air between them. “I want to know how to make someone fall asleep.”

“You will not dictate what I teach you.”

“You won’t dictate how I learn.”

Anger scaled his spine. “You will listen. That is learning _itself_.”

“You can’t stop me.” Her words had a certain false heft to them. “I’ll learn on my own. You don’t know what I’ve done.”

He scoffed and reached out to touch her mind. She slumped, shuddered, her eyes flickered shut—

“No,” she whispered, falling to her knees. “No.”

Fifteen minutes later, she was still on her knees and the navigational console behind her was a ruin of cauterized plastic.

\---

She ate on her cot. She bathed with a bowl and a sponge. She wasted nothing and asked for less. And she did not leave her room for anything but training.

Kylo felt anger, itchy and roiling, fill her whenever the reality of the ship was too apparent to ignore. The sound of a stormtrooper’s heels striking steel. Hux’s clipped commands. An orderly’s crack at General Organa. Him. Anything that wore away at the idea of this as an ascetic’s quest, as a spiritual journey. As anything but darkness.

“How can you say you want this,” he muttered, doing a terrible job of smoothing the frustration out of his voice, “when you resist it at every turn?”

“I don’t want it,” she hissed, parrying his blow to her solar plexus. “I don’t want all…t _his_. I just want knowledge.”

He swept her legs out from beneath her and she came down hard. “Sometimes knowledge is _uncomfortable._ ”

She looked up at him then, eyes dark and deep. She was old and young and utterly, swallowingly brilliant.

“You’re uncomfortable,” she said. “All the time.”

\---

She took well to anger, though.

“Don’t stigmatize it,” Kylo said. “Feel it as you feel happiness.”

Rey took a deep breath as he pried at the latches of her mind. There—a trader on Jakku, swiping a day’s haul of scrap. A man striking her across the face, his palms seamed with sand. He let the memories pool, let them catch the light. Rey shuddered.

“Breathe,” he whispered.

She did—haltingly at first, and the in great, greedy gulps. He placed a hand on her forehead, and she lit up, incandescent with the Force, red red red as a poppy’s first petal.

Her eyes flew open, wild with success. He felt himself grow warm as she flushed with the confidence of it.

“I know,” he could not help but say. “When it—“

“When it _works_ ,” she breathed. He could nearly see her words hanging in the air between them, swelling ripely with power. She grinned.

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

\---

He dreamed, that night. He’d not yet learned to master them. He washed the bedclothes himself, furtively, before a droid could whisk them away.

She did not meet his gaze until the afternoon.

\---

She was incredible with machines, as tender and intuitive as a mother. He watched her take apart and reassemble the temperature regulator in her room, adjusting it to her more customary swelter.

She turned and jumped at his presence. For the first time, she did not complain of an “ambush.”

“Lie down,” he said, directing her to the cot. “We’re going to start with breath control.”

“I can’t breathe any slower.”

“I know.” He jerked his chin towards the cot. “We’re going to s _tart_ with it.”

Grumpily, she stretched herself out atop the worn canvas. Kylo paused, and took off his mask. She glanced towards him, speech almost visibly quivering on her lip.

“In,” he said, and she complied. “To six.”

_One two three four five six_

“And out. Eight.”

_One two three four five six seven eight_

Her eyes fluttered open. “I can’t…I can’t tell if I’m saying things out loud anymore. Or if you are.” Her brow furrowed. “Or…what you hear.”

“That’s good,” Kylo said. “Uncertainty is fear, and fear sharpens focus.”

_All right_ , she said. Or didn’t.

\---

That night, he dreamt of Jakku. He dreamt of the moon bloated by the fishbowl gaze of on old AT-AT’s peepholes, of coppery chasms, of sand in his eyes and nose and throat, of sand between his stained and threadbare sheets, of sand in every mouthful of anonymous starch. He dreamt of dunes dotted with freckled, peeling children, and of wizened women slipping him an extra quarter portion. He dreamt of a loneliness that became total, but never quite routine. And he dreamt of an ocean, and an island, and a vastness he could not contain.

\---

Rey was nearly luminescent with resistance. He could not help but note how massively her posture had improved.

“I said,” Kylo intoned, “What. Do you fear.”

“Nothing,” she said flatly. “Isn’t that the point?”

“Stupid.” He watched as her eyes flew open, as she began to sputter, as the veins in her neck began to bulge. _And—release._ “What do you fear.”

She hunched forward, gasping. “I fear—ignorance.”

Kylo stared at her. “Ignorance.”

“Yes.” She sat up shakily, setting her mouth. “I’m—scared. I’m scared of not knowing enough to know that…I don’t know enough.”

“That is…” He blinked. “Wise.”

“Not yet.”

\---

He was a terrible teacher.

“You’re a terrible teacher,” she said, heaped against the wall. He was shaking, collecting himself from the flood of Force he’d just sent out.

“You’re a terrible s _tudent._ ”

“A good teacher makes do.”

“A good teacher cannot work _miracles._ ”

He spun towards her, but she was waiting—crouching, veined with power, a predator’s hitch to her mouth. He was flooded with last night’s dreams, with the flash of her tongue, with her body, lithe and trembling, straining for his touch, her sweet wet cunt, her little desert rat’s face wet with tears and pink with need need need _you need me Ben Solo,_ she whispered, or he whispered, or maybe the Force itself whispered, as sibilant as a secret and as loud as a gong. _You need me you need me you NEED_

She blinked, and he was empty again.

\---

He did not cry. But he dreamed of the stars through the Falcon’s window, longing out as they hit lightspeed like birthday streamers.

\---

Being near her hurt. So he kept nearer to her.

Snoke nodded. “You have done well this week.”

“Thank you, Supreme Leader.”

“She has done better.”

\---

He dreamt, that night, of her in the center of a bare black room, on her knees, her arms tethered to the ceiling. She was pearly in the darkness, and shivering, and so wet that she could not hide the way her splayed thighs caught the light.

He circled her, watching her whimper, watching her long for him, watching her pert little nipples tighten with anticipation, watching her cheeks flush at the suggestion of his hand beneath his robes. But he did not touch her. He watched, and he whispered, and he circled, and perhaps the air seemed to reach out and lick at her with brief, unseen tongues from time to time. But he did not touch her as she shuddered and panted, as her thighs began to quake, as the crushed flower between her legs swelled with need of him, as she begged for his cock, then his tongue, then, finally, for even a finger. He did not touch her as she strained against her bonds, as she thrust her hips backwards, desperate to be mounted like a bitch in heat. He did not touch her as she moaned for him, as her head rolled this way and that, as errant strands of hair caught on her moist and open lips. He did not touch her as she cried out, orgasm thundering through her, unable to deny his gaze, unable to escape him, unable to compel him. He did not touch her as she collapsed, as the bonds snapped, as she fell into a sweaty tangle of underfed limbs. She whispered his name. He swept silently from the room.

\---

She experimented with cutting, with burning, all the fumblings he’d gone through years ago. She landed a brutal slash to his shoulder, because, in its inconstant and juvenile way, it worked.

“That’s too easy,” he said, whirling away, watching her snarl. “Like—“

But she caught him with a heel to the face and sent him flying. Her arms were crisscrossed with thin, purposeful cuts, archipelagoed with scabs, all of it pink and weeping fluid, desperate to knit back together.

He stood, stumbled, puppeted her into a standing position. She bit furiously at her wrist, looking to reopen a welt there.

“You can’t do that,” he panted, drawing her nearer to him. “You can’t depend on hurting all the time you s _tupid_ girl.”

She glared. “Like you—“

“ _No_ — _”_

“Like you—”

“NO—”

“LIKE YOU, YOU STUPID—”

A thin, pinched yelp sprang from her throat as it closed, as his own words were lost in a guttural whine as she did—something, something terrible, something that flooded his every capillary with her fury—

_BEN KYLO REY KYLO REY REY BEN KYLO REN REY_

He felt blood seep from his nose as it filled the crevices of her teeth.

_STUPID GIRL STUPID BOY STUPID LOST LITTLE RAT LITTLE WEAKLING STUPID STUPID CHILD_

He was blistering in the sun, he was going on his first smuggling run and he was keeping it a secret from his mother, he was hungry and his knuckles were sore, he was looking into the first pair of eyes he’d taken the light from, he was lonely, he was lonely, he was lonely, he was _lonely—_

He woke, hours later, collapsed in a corner. She’d left a halo of blood on the floor where she’d lay.

\---

He dreamt, that night, of her pressing him into his worn mattress, of her teeth sinking into his shoulder, of his hips bucking helplessly upwards. She was a young sun, the kind they sought for draining, power flaring in bright, sinuous arcs. Her nails raked his chest, drawing blood. Her teeth worried at his jugular. He heaved himself into her, fevered and trembling, leashed by her heavy hips and hands.

_Please_ , he whispered, _please_ —

She tore his throat open as he cried out, spilling himself into the starfield that surely lay within her. She lapped at the carnage of him, an icy caryatid atop a smoldering ruin. She smiled.

\---

He lost a tooth to her, the next day.

\---

“There is power between you,” Snoke mused.

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

“Which you do not command.”

\---

She smelled like blood. Like iron. Like the inner workings of his saber. Artificial. Junky. Like cockpits and senate antechambers and the ruined mask beside his bed.

\---

Kylo imagined his death at her hands. Of her tall and triumphant above him, of his blood under her fingernails. Of her swathed in the Force, looping it carelessly through her fingers, sending it forth to give his every shameful memory a last caress before she stopped his heart.

She cracked his jaw the next day.

“I wouldn’t kill you like that,” she murmured, as he licked the blood from his teeth. “I’d _gut_ you.”

\---

She was gone a month later. There was anger in him, brackish and unsuitable for anything worthwhile. But there was no surprise.

\---

He dreams now, most every night, of her. Her throat split open like overripe fruit. His limbs, pale in the light of twin moons he does not recognize, strewn about her feet. The slick sweetness of her hands between her legs.

He knows she will return, some day. And he knows that he will not be ready.


End file.
